


Always behind the eight-ball

by Buggirl



Series: May to September [5]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Drabbles, F/M, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, prompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-05-18 22:44:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5946109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buggirl/pseuds/Buggirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some MacCready x Molly prompts from tumblr - Always behind the eight-ball. MacCready gets cocky about his pool table skills, but 'the rules' take a reverse turn when he over reaches his ability when tired and a little drunk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always behind the eight-ball

God she smelled good, like following a carpet of flowers and with the added benefit – the view from behind of her ass in that jumpsuit. A pleasant experience, given his last experience of travelling downwind of the last smelly asshole who hired him. He scratched his head, how she let a mercenary she hardly knew watch her back, he didn’t understand. He wouldn’t have done it, too much like going for a swim in a pond full of mirelurks. What was it that made her instantly trust him? There were times he didn’t even trust himself.

“Why here?” he’d asked when they reached Sanctuary Hills.

“Because,” she replied. “This is home.”

A group of settlers and a couple of guys who looked like soldiers greeted them on their arrival. He’d heard on Diamond City radio that the Minutemen were back. They’d built up a nice little settlement houses and a safe place here and it was safe as much as anywhere could be safe. There was a reporter from Diamond City named Piper there too and the synth detective, Nick Valentine. Both of them regarded him with a level of suspicion, her with narrowed eyes and crossed arms, him with a word about trustworthiness. It was friendly, as far as a greeting in the Commonwealth went.

“Whoa, you’ve got a whole house set up for entertaining?” he said as she showed him around the Sanctuary Hills neighbourhood. “Bit of an indulgence dontcha think, Gould? Is this why you collect every bit of junk going?”

Molly rubbed a finger across her top lip. “Maybe, I guess. But, they have everything else. It’s just a pool table and a drinks cabinet with an extra radio. A few other things like a couple of baseball mitts and a ball. Even a couple of board games. People have to have some down time, and for those wanting to get rowdy, it’s away from the rest of the houses where people are sleeping.”

MacCready gave her a sceptical nod and raised one eyebrow. “Whatever you say, Gould.

“It’s just Molly, MacCready,or boss if you want to keep it formal,” she replied.

He tipped two fingers in a salute. “Boss it is then. And speaking of sleeping, where do I bunk?”

“That house over there. That was my home before the war. There are a couple of small rooms with spare beds and the lounge has a few beds too. Don’t worry the beds are behind a partition, the house is pretty quiet. Just stay out of the main bedroom and Shaun’s room.”

“Will do, Boss.”

She stood with her hands on her hips as if surveying the settlement. “I’m not used to this sort of thing, turning homes into fortresses. Certainly not something I once called home. It used to be in better shape. This street is probably only standing because of Codsworth, and now with Preston. He’s making sure the houses will stand for a little longer.”

“Home is wherever you make it,” he replied.

She looked at him and narrowed her eyes, but said nothing. He was sure he said something wrong though.

He shifted his feet from side to side, talking of all this domesticity made him thirsty for something other than water. “So you play pool then?”

She coughed and scratched the back of her neck. “Yeah, a little. Haven’t played for a very long time though.”

“Maybe when we have some down time, we can give the table a whirl? I’ll probably beat the pants off you.” He eyed her up and down and rubbed his nails on his jacket. “I’m quite the player.”

“Are you now?” She cocked her head to one side and held a smirk in check. “C’mon then.” She started walking to another of the settlement houses.

“What? Now? Isn’t it kind of late?”

“Yeah, now. What, too tired? Scared I’ll beat you?” She tilted her head and her tongue poked out a little between her teeth.

“You’re on, then. After you.” He swept his hand in front of him, one more time to get a good look at her from behind.

Inside the house of patchwork walls and falling down ceilings. Sturges was packing up for the night.

“Molly, haven’t seen you for days,” he said.

“This is MacCready, Sturges. I’ve hired him to help me out on the road for bit.”

Sturges smile didn’t reach his eyes as he greeted him. “Here for long?”

“As long as I’m needed,” MacCready replied.

“Good, well I’ll leave you to it then. Look after my table.” Sturges looked back and MacCready could see the look he gave her, along the lines of ‘don’t trust this asshole’.

He turned his head back with a sniff. “I don’t think your friends like me.”

She shrugged. “They’re not the one paying you now are they?”

“Fair point. Rack em up?”

He watched her configure the setup. “Regular 8-ball?” she asked.

“The only one I play.”

She removed the rack, picked up her cue and leant in, cracking the white hard into the triangle of balls. There was little break, and no balls pocketed.

“Not a great start, Gould.” He picked his cue up and pocketed three in a row before missing the fourth. “I guess I’m bigs.”

She frowned. “I guess you are.”

He watched her wiggle across the top of the table, only to miss another shot. She looked up at him and he was wearing the biggest grin. “What? So I’m a bit rusty?”

“Oh is that what it is?” He pocketed the remaining balls and the eight ball, each time giving her a nod and a smug smile. “See, told you I was good. But you know–”he ran a thumb and forefinger over his beard. “I’ll give you that one, rack em up again, and if I pocket all the balls before you pocket one, I’ll have to enforce the rules.”

“Rules? What rules?” she said with an uncertain tone.

“Rack em up Gould, and I’ll tell you.” He walked over to the bar and poured himself a whiskey, and another for her and leaned one arm against the bar. “Want one?” He lifted the glass in her direction.

“Might as well.” She took the glass from him, took a swig then coughed, the whiskey caught the back of her throat making her voice hoarse. “Your break.”

“No you go ahead, I’ll explain the rules,” he said with a one sided smirk sitting across his lips.

She cracked the ball into the set, the balls scattered but again none were pocketed. “C’mon then, hot shot. Tell me.”

“If you don’t get a single ball before the eight ball is left on the table and it’s my turn you have to run around the table minus your shirt, at least five times.” He tapped his finger on his chin. “Or was that ten?”

“Really, that’s the rules? Are you kidding me?” She lifted a single brow.

“And– If I pot the eight, you have to run around without your pants.”

Her mouth opened and closed and her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “I’ve never heard of this rule.”

“I’m surprised, it’s been around a very long time I’m told.” His fingers tapped against one another. He leaned against the bar again and watched her mouth grow tight. “Call the game off if you want, Gould. But you know–” He pushed the cue from one hand to another then back again. “Of all the things I know about you from our limited time together, I never figured you for a quitter.”

It was enough to set her off and he saw her eyes sparkle. She fiddled with the cue as she spoke. “All right then. If – and only if that happens, I’ll do it. However, if I manage to pot one ball – and only one, before you pocket the eight - then you have to run around the table without your shirt, OR your pants. Twenty times.”

He started laughing. “It doesn’t work like that, but okay, why not.” He hoped he didn’t miss because the only time he might get a look at her ass out of that jumpsuit. He wondered what kind of underwear she wore.

MacCready lifted his cue and potted 2 in a row then missed, she missed on her shot, he potted one and then missed , she missed again, he potted 2 more before missing.

“Would you like another drink? Something to get you warmed up for the run? It’s way past your bedtime I’m sure and there’s a chill in the air.” He made to look at his wristwatch. “Yeah pretty late for you, Gould.”

She laughed out the side of her mouth. “You’re one cocky SOB you know that MacCready?”

“I sure do, Boss.” He tipped a finger to his hat.

She walked around the table and she waved away a drink that he was trying to pass to her. “No I’m gonna get this one. Yeah.” She leaned forward then stood up and walked around the table again before making her way back to the same spot. She leaned forward “Three. Left corner pocket.” She hit it straight and hard, it could have easily been a bank shot, but it bounced instead and she groaned, and blew a raspberry.

“Hope your zipper doesn’t get stuck.” He finished another glass.

“You got two balls left, you might miss both given the way you’re downing that whiskey.”

“I doubt it.” He hit the first ball. “12 in the middle pocket.” It went in smoothly. He could feel his stomach burn, and heightened sense of excitement came to him. “Nine in the right back pocket.” He hit and stood back. It went in and he turned to look at her.

She stood mouth slightly agape and was shaking her head.

“You’re a woman of honor aren’t you, Gould? One who doesn’t go back on her word?” He moved and sat on one of the stools. “I think I can get the best view from here.”

She stood hands on hips and sighed. “How many times?”

“At least five.”

Molly Gould was not a slim woman, she was medium height and built with a classic hourglass figure, when she pulled the zip down past her breasts there was a burst of freckled covered flesh then a pale pink coloured bra, it had a lacy top and was far more delicate than anything he’d seen for a while. But, that didn’t interest him. It was what was beneath the material that made his eyes pop. He didn’t expect to be enjoying this so much but the smile gave him away. She pulled the sleeves off to reveal the skin of her upper torso, it too, dappled with freckles, far less than anywhere else, but they were there.

“Happy? You smug little–”

“More than,” he replied. He couldn’t hide the fact. However he was beginning to relish the idea of seeing her do it without the pants section of the vault suit too.

She didn’t run, but walked fast around the table. Counting and trying not to look at him as she passed. He began to laugh that got louder each time she passed.

“Stop laughing.”

He shook his head and held his sides.

“Eight– nine– ten. And done.” She walked to in front of him pulled the sleeves up and zipped the suit up over her chest. The blue material folded around her breasts and squeezed them together in an inviting manner. “Your turn.”

He jumped from the stool still smiling, the remnants of laughter finally subsiding. He stepped over to the table. “Eightball, centre left pocket.”

He watched in slow motion a confused look on his face as the ball missed the pocket. His gut was churning – the laughing had distracted him, thoughts of her breasts distracted him, and combined with whiskey finally beginning to kick in, hot shot became not shot.

It was her turn to laugh and all he could do was smirk and shake his head. “You gonna miss that next shot, Gould.”

“We’ll see. You better get ready to get down to your smalls soldier.” She leaned forward. “Three ball back right pocket.” Again the ball bounced of the soft edges and once again she groaned. “You have got to be kidding.”

“The way you slid into that suit looks like it might be a bit difficult trying to take it off. Why don’t you start now, I’ll take my time.”

“Uh-uh. This zipper stays up until I see that black ball disappear.”

He could lace his reply with innuendo but tried to focus instead. Even though he lined up the shot, he knew the whiskey was sending his eyes wavering, and he missed for a second time. He bowed his head and sighed.

She jumped and yelped. “Yes!”

“That smile is not gonna last, Gould.”

“Bad mouth me all you want MacCready, but tonight–” She pushed past him and wiggled her ass in his face as she bent down. “I’m gonna win this one.”

He crossed his arms and waited.

There was a bang from behind him, a Nuka cola bottled had fallen off the shelf, it hadn’t broken but the lid made an audible pop as it came off. When he turned back he watched as the five ball fell into the middle pocket. She stood up, triumphantly putting one hand on her hip the other blowing on her nails and rubbing on her suit like he had done barely an hour before.

“Hey I was distracted, I didn’t see you do that.”

“Excuse me. Shirt. Pants. C’mon soldier, I play by the rules and I didn’t cheat.”

He sighed and began to undress.

“You can leave your hat and your socks on. Oh and you know.” She waved a finger in the direction of his underpants.

He nodded with a fake smile. “So kind of you.”

He kicked off his boots and removed his shirt. His build was reedy, and he’d been called reedy MacCready on more than one occasion, but merc life had been a better living so he had more fat on him now than he had ever before. His muscles, were lean and sinewy, and being fair and having lived more than half his life underground, the skin of his legs and torso was pale compared to his sun exposed face and hands.

She had placed a hand over her mouth stifling a laugh as he bowed to her. “Ten times was it?”

“Twenty.” It was her turn to sit on a stool and laugh, and instead of just laughing, she cat called, made remarks for him to go faster, that he couldn’t out run a deathclaw, what kind of athletics had he failed in. “C’mon MacCready, faster now.”

He stopped in front of her huffing. “That’s ten right.”

“Maybe, who’s counting?”

He counted ten more and leaned against the pool table. The whiskey had zapped his energy, he grabbed his pants and put them back on shirtless and sat back on the couch shoeless, fatigue beginning to set in. He reached out to her with a grabby hand. “Whiskey. A large one if you please, Gould.”

She came over and sat next to him and he drank the shot and laid his head back on the couch closing his eyes. If he’d been less tired, less ploughed with whiskey, he’d be leaning back watching her squeeze back into that vault suit. He opened his eyes to catch her staring at him, biting her bottom lip.

He reached forward and began to put his shirt back on. “Where to tomorrow, Gould?”

“Some raiders, at a nearby settlement. Then to the boathouse. We should probably get some sleep. And you should probably stop calling me, Gould.”

“Ahh yeah, sorry.” He pulled on his shoes and stood as did she.

“Beds are this way.” She pointed gingerly across the road.

They walked in silence until they stood in the living room of Molly’s former home. “A rematch sometime. I’d like to see you out of that Vault suit.” As soon as the words came out of his mouth he knew it was more than just innuendo. His face pinched and he bit his tongue.

Her face turned bright red in response. But she didn’t turn and run, or reply with a quirky comment, she leaned up to him put a hand behind his head bringing his face closer to hers and kissed him, soft and full on the lips. “There’s a spare bed in that room,” she said as she pulled back and pointed to a bedroom on the right. Inside, another settler was asleep on the top bunk. “Goodnight, MacCready.” She turned her back and padded down the hall.

He gave a long exale. “Goodnight– Molly.” But she was already out of earshot.


End file.
